Evolution III: Only a Boy
by RatGrl
Summary: The crew of Moya must make a decision.


Evolution III: Only a Boy 

By RatGrl (ratgrl127@ameritech.net)

Archive: This story is indeed my property and may be passed along and archived as long as my name goes right along with it. Just ask first, heh. 

Category: Drama

Rating: PG-13, I guess. 

Spoilers: None that I know of. 

Summary: The crew of Moya must make a decision. 

Disclaimer: Obviously the characters of Farscape do not belong to me and never will (awww!). They do, however, belong to the Jim Henson Company and I use them humbly for my personal entertainment within this little universe of mine. The character of Seth is of my own creation, as well as Captain Lundin. They are not to be used without my permission. 

Author's Note: This is the third part of the Evolution Series. It is not crucial you read the first two parts, but it is suggested. Feedback is always welcome. 

Let's rock!

* * *

The cautious footsteps echoed within the sterile silence of the officer's quarters, interrupting Captain Lundin's pensive glare at the expanse of blackness blanketing his vessel. Lost in thought, one hand strayed to his face, absently rubbing the prominent line of his jaw. 

"Sir?" 

If he concentrated, he could be lost within the nothingness. 

"Yes Lieutenant?" Captain Lundin frowned, annoyed, turning to face the sudden intruder.

Lieutenant Barka coughed nervously. "Our sources tell us that the boy was taken to a Leviathan that was trading at the commerce planet."

"Is it still in the area?" Lundin asked, his interest growing. 

He looked at his hands, wondering how long it would take to get the stains out.

"We believe so."

He imagined a giant star exploding, then quickly disappearing. As if it were never there. 

"Then find it. And do not return to me until you do."

Lieutenant Barka nodded and quickly exited the room. Smiling, Lundin clasped his hands behind his back, resuming his scrutiny of the pale white stars drowning in a sea of ink. 

Soon. The boy was close now. He could feel it. 

Lundin licked his lips in anticipation. 

Words snapped through the air, sharp and serrated, like furious, unchecked flames. An indignant glare, a crimson face, a strained curse; all leapt together in a dissonance of opposition. Zhaan brought a hand delicately to her temple, pressing lightly, feeling it faintly pulse beneath her fingertips. A fervent voice, an accusing scowl, a scoffing snicker. The assault continued. Pressing harder, Zhaan vainly hoped to ease the intensifying headache beating through her skull.

Yet the distinct premonition that this meeting would not be reaching an end any time soon caused her head to throb even more.

"He can't stay here!" D'Argo slammed a menacing fist onto the table. "It's not safe!"

"How do you know it's any safer down there?" Crichton challenged, his arm cutting through the air, indicating the planet they were currently orbiting. "He was carved up by a rabid vendor, D'Argo, you call that safe?!" 

Zhaan cringed, waiting for the next onslaught of hostility to rain down on all of them. 

Ever since this disastrous meeting had begun, it had unexpectedly been Crichton who was the most vocal about keeping the boy aboard Moya. It was possible that Crichton, gripped with the naive notion that they, as fugitives, could provide for the boy, was being too idealistic for their current situation. But his passionate argument with D'Argo was genuine and honest, and Zhaan found herself unwillingly filled with the optimism a new child brings into the world. 

Crichton was a strange creature. It would take cycles for her to even begin to understand his paths of decision-making, most of which were ruled by raw emotion and impulsive thought. Zhaan knew realistically that keeping the child aboard Moya could easily be the equivalent of signing his death warrant. They were fugitives, and dragging a child into their world of uncertainty was simply not an option. 

But perhaps, after taking part in the boy's rescue, Crichton felt the desire, the responsibility, to protect this child. Perhaps Crichton had invested himself within this life he had saved and couldn't find the strength to abandon him to the unknown risks and pitfalls planetside. 

Zhaan couldn't help wondering if Aeryn felt the same way. 

Glancing at Aeryn, whose arms were crossed over her chest, defiantly, dark eyes staring at the floor, Zhaan tried to keep her frustration at bay. 

Aeryn had risked her life for the boy's, that much was apparent. She had carried his battered body to her Prowler while under a canopy of chaos and panic, had held him, bleeding, on the way back to Moya. Had even rushed him to Zhaan, laying him down on the medlab table with a gentleness Zhaan had never seen the Peacekeeper exhibit before. 

Ex-Peacekeeper, Zhaan corrected herself. Aeryn was no longer a part of that world.

But it was so hard to tell, especially when Aeryn acted on the ignorant ideals her people had forced upon her. Not moments after the boy had been stitched up and was decided to be at least temporarily stable, Aeryn was out of sight. For days, while the boy struggled against the overwhelming darkness, Aeryn could not be found. 

Then, on the third day, he woke up. Under Aeryn's watch.

Zhaan had been quite surprised to hear Aeryn's voice calling her over the comm, dictating, calmly, the abrupt change that had taken place in the status of the boy's condition. And she had been even more surprised when Aeryn stayed and helped her perform the necessary medical checks and re-checks that were crucial to the boy's survival. 

But now Aeryn was a silent bystander in the discussions that were going to determine this child's future. Aeryn, who had saved his life. Aeryn, who had witnessed his reawakening into life. Yet she hadn't said a word for the course of this meeting. 

"We are fugitives. Or have you forgotten?" D'Argo bellowed. Crichton's face reddened as he fought to contain his temper.

"I doubt he's forgotten, D'Argo," Chiana leered, smirking mischievously. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Crichton, exasperated, spat out. If Zhaan wasn't mistaken, a brief flash of guilt rippled across his features. So he still blamed himself for the universe's woes. Typical of Crichton.

She smiled, despite her growing aggravation with the crew. 

"Yes, after all, it is because of him," Rygel added smugly, "That Crais is still pursuing us."

Chiana laughed. Aeryn said nothing. A deep growl emitted from D'Argo's throat.

"Rygel---" D'Argo warned. 

"If you ask me, we should return the boy planetside as soon as possible."

"No one asked you," Crichton hissed, still angry. Zhaan watched his fingers involuntarily dig into the table's surface. 

"I'm only looking out for the crew. We are on limited rations. One less mouth to feed." 

"How kind-hearted of you, your Royal Eminence," D'Argo snarled. Scowl tightening in anger, Rygel swerved his hover chair towards the Luxan.

"I thought you were in favor of sending the boy back at the first available microt."

"I am, but---"

"But what?"

A muscle visibly clenched in D'Argo's jaw. "I suggest you don't go there." 

"Why? Afraid I'll uncover a few more family secrets?" Rygel sneered.

With a deafening roar, D'Argo lunged for the Hynerian, who just barely swerved ungracefully away from D'Ago's grasp. Crichton threw himself into the scuffle, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the enraged Luxan.

Zhaan had to give him credit. He was brave. 

But not nearly strong enough to keep D'Argo from ripping Rygel to pieces. 

"Ka'ha'leen, give me strength," she muttered, standing up, smoothing out her robe. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath.

With an easy tug, she picked up one of the chairs scattered carelessly in the mess hall. Zhaan took in another breath to calm herself, then heaved the chair across the room, the clattering crash startling the feuding crew. 

"Are all of you finished?" 

Everyone stared hard at her, silent. "We have been 'discussing' for nearly an arn now and we are still where we started."

Zhaan held up her hands. "So let us compromise. The boy has not said a word since he has awoken. Once he speaks, we can get any needed information from him. Then we will make a decision from there."

"I agree."

Aeryn stood up, jutting her chin outwards. Her eyes remained impassively dark. "It is the only feasible thing to do, at this point."

The others nodded, still taken off-guard by Aeryn's sudden assertion. With nothing more to be said, they slowly began to clear out of the mess hall. Zhaan hoped that as they retreated to their rooms they would carefully reconsider their decisions.

And Ka'ha'leen willing, they would soon have a plan.

Aeryn tried to slip past Zhaan, undetected. Zhaan quickly caught her by the arm.

"Just think of it as a field strategy exercise, Aeryn." She paused, meeting Aeryn's eyes. "He is only a boy."

Aeryn said nothing, breaking from Zhaan's grasp, leaving the mess hall.

But for that moment as their eyes connected, Zhaan saw an unnameable turmoil rippling through the gray, breaking through the surface, reflecting a startling geyser of vulnerability. A bare, unchecked mass of emotion Zhaan had never seen before in the Sebecean or in anyone else.

Zhaan made a mental note to reserve a special prayer for the ex-Peacekeeper tonight. She would need it. 

Aeryn stood outside his room, watching, fascinated by each delicate puff of his chest as he took in a new breath. One hand clenched at her side, muscles sore and stiff, while the fingers of the other wove through the metal bars. 

He was beautiful when he slept. Innocent. 

Her fingers curled around the bars, knuckles whitening, unrest outlined in each crease of her pale skin.

Why was this so difficult? Why was it so difficult to admit she wanted to know if he was okay?

Because maybe it was more than that. 

Maybe she even cared.

The boy's leg twitched slightly under the blankets, his arm brushing across his face haphazardly. Wriggling onto his side, one bare foot poked out of the tumble of blankets tangled around his small body.

She could have sworn she heard him whimper. 

Aeryn blinked her eyes furiously, quelling the aching that had risen inside. 

Why was it she was so mesmerized by this child? Why did she constantly find herself, late at night, keeping vigil over him within the shadows? He was a mistake. Peacekeeper doctrine had deemed it so. A mistake, a sin, an evil byproduct leaked from the womb of parents disfigured and polluted by the entity of Free Will. 

Yet here she was. Watching him. 

She couldn't explain it. She didn't dare to. It was dangerous to explore such thoughts, such feelings. To lose yourself within the infinite depths of Truth, to walk untethered to the solid buildings of Fact, to be manipulated by the vision of Self? Improbable. She rejected Thought and Feeling and Love. She rejected those beasts happily, lustfully. Without reservation. And in that sublime proclamation, she felt safe. Protected. No longer alone, but an insignificant piece of the Larger Whole. 

But then why did she still feel so unfulfilled? 

Aeryn bit the inside of her cheeks, her body betraying itself, shaking. 

She chose not to explore that thought any further. 

Again, the boy squirmed to get comfortable. This time Aeryn was certain she had heard him whimpering. And when she looked closer, through the dim light throwing shadows against the walls, her eyes caught a glistening bead of water trailing down his smooth face.

He was crying. 

Oh, frell.

Her mind wrapped around itself, coiling tight with indecision. Should she do something? Get someone? Or just leave? 

He scrunched into a ball, thin arms wrapping around his legs, face pushed into the cradle of his knees. Pitiful, Aeryn assessed. Weak. Yet Aeryn couldn't muster any contempt towards the child. 

For a microt, that bothered her. Worried her even. But her mind was currently focused on the boy, who was now rocking in an erratic rhythm, his sobbing muffled by the waves of blankets wrapping around him. 

Perhaps she should call Zhaan in. Zhaan would know what to do. 

But she was a soldier. She had fought countless enemies, sometimes only armed with her bare hands. She could at least, she rationalized, handle a child. 

But she wasn't trained to deal with children. 

__

Just think of it as a field strategy exercise, Aeryn. 

Why did she suddenly find that phrase clawing into her thoughts now, uninvited, when she needed to ignore it most? 

__

He is only a boy. 

She swallowed, hard. 

__

He is only a boy. 

She walked in, awkwardly, careful not to startle him, yet making enough noise so he would know she was there. Resting a hand on his bed, she crouched next to his bed, her face level with his. When was the last time she had been this close to him? Not since he had awoken, she realized. Not since he had rejoined the ranks of the living. 

__

Just think of it as a field exercise, Aeryn. 

She cleared her throat. "Why are you crying?" she asked, as gently as possible. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, a loud, demanding, beat.

__

He is only a boy. 

He didn't answer, only started to cry harder. 

Discouraged, Aeryn leaned back on her haunches, preparing to leave. She had tried. And failed. But this was not in her training, she reminded herself. She had never dealt with children before. She didn't know how.

But she did try. 

But why did that not feel like enough? And why couldn't she leave his bedside? 

She felt a brush against her arm. Looked down. A small hand clutched her shirt sleeve, the fabric twisted within his frail grasp. "Don't leave me."

His voice was so soft, so strained. Faint. Surprise choked through Aeryn, and she found that she couldn't speak, couldn't reply, couldn't tell him that nothing would make her leave him at this moment. Nothing. Her throat was tight, her tongue dry. Why couldn't she find the voice to tell him that maybe she didn't understand what was going on, or how to fix it, or even what it meant, but that she would do her best to protect him as long as she could? 

The revelation burst through her mind in a brilliant flash of light, bright and blinding.

And frightening. 

She would protect him. As long as she could.

"Please."

Her hand raised and rested on his head, smoothing down a rebellious lock of blonde hair. His face looked up into hers; vulnerable, sorrowful. Trusting. Aeryn felt something break inside her, then rebuild, and she finally found her voice.

"My name is Aeryn." 

The profound declaration rang in her ears. 

Since she had been born, she had been conditioned to see herself as a Peacekeeper and a Peacekeeper only. A solider. Duty first, personal desires last. Every fiber of her identity had been held within her people's hands. And when it had been ripped away from her, irreversibly demolished forever, she had been lost, unable to stop the world from tilting on its axis. 

Alone. 

But her name was Aeryn. She was Aeryn. Not Officer Aeryn Sun, or Aeryn Sun, Peacekeeper. Just Aeryn.

And strangely, that was more than enough. 

"What is your name?" 

The question felt clumsy to her ears. Awkward. She had saved his life, sat by his bedside, watched him sleep, and yet she didn't even know his name.

He wiped a hand across his face. Sniffled. Released her shirt from his grasp. 

"Seth."

She smiled warmly at him, a small laugh deep in her throat. A corner of his mouth twitched, tentatively. They watched each other for a while, gray eyes staring into clear, honest blue, feeling out the other's presence. 

He had stopped crying. And maybe at that moment, to Aeryn, that was all that mattered. Not the aching in her knees, not Crais, not her life. Him. Seth. 

Just maybe. 

"Will you stay here with me for a while?"

"Yes."

"Zhaan!" Pilot cried urgently. "Zhaan!"

"What is it, Pilot?" Zhaan asked hurriedly, trying to read Pilot's agitated face on the viewscreen. D'Argo appeared next to her. 

"There are Peacekeepers wishing to board."

"From Crais' command carrier?" D'Argo demanded. 

"No."

"Then what do they want?" 

Zhaan's breath caught in her throat, afraid she already knew the answer. 

"They say," Pilot began. "That they are looking for a boy."

Seth's eyes finally drifted closed, his body relaxing within the wings of peaceful slumber. Aeryn rubbed a hand across her face, suddenly feeling the weight of the day descending upon her heavy limbs and sore knees. Mentally and physically exhausted, she hesitated to leave for her own bed. 

She had promised him she would be there if he woke up again. 

A loud voice suddenly bristled over her comm, startling her. She quickly glanced at Seth, thankful he was still asleep. 

"Aeryn!"

"Yes, Zhaan?" Aeryn straightened, alert. 

There was a pause over the line, as if she was deciding whether or not to proceed. Then, "Is the boy with you?"

"Yes," Aeryn answered. "He just fell asleep. What is going on?" 

"Good. Stay with him. Out of sight. There are Peacekeepers on board."

"Crais?"

"No. But please, stay out of sight."

"Zhaan," Aeryn pressed. "What is it you're not telling me?" 

Silence crackled over the line. Aeryn tensed. 

"You are not aboard this ship. Neither is the boy." Zhaan paused, letting the silent connotation sink in. 

"I understand." 

Yes, she understood. All too well.


End file.
